


To Say Farewell

by Sunnyrea



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Book Spoilers, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:58:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4152702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnyrea/pseuds/Sunnyrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jonathan Strange bids his wife goodbye, Mr. Norrell wishes to pay his own farewell to his only real connection remaining in England, John Childermass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Say Farewell

**Author's Note:**

> Since Strange got a goodbye, I felt Norrell deserved one too.

It was many months after Hurtfew Abbey disappeared, only a few weeks after the first meeting of the restored York Society of Magicians and also, though few would have been able to confirm this, two days after Jonathan Strange bid farewell to his wife in Padua that the column of darkness appeared again in York. It did not appear on the grounds of where Hurtfew Abbey had once been but considerably closer to the town of York itself. In fact it was in easy view of the farm house nearest to York belonging to a Mr. Stonewall. Though his two sons, daughter and wife all felt disinclined to venture inside or even anywhere near the blackness, Mr. Stonewall was of the opinion that when a stranger is at one's doorstep, one should either invite them inside or ask them to leave. It was with the latter in mind that Mr. Stonewall steeled his resolve, as well as his nerves, and entered into the darkness. He came out again only a few minutes later and called to one of his sons to run into the town and fetch someone.

“Fetch who?” His older son asked.

“It’s…”

“Did you speak to them?” His wife asked. “The Magicians?”

“I…”

“Are they even alive in that fearful place?” His second son asked.

“Of course…”

“Who do they want?” His daughter asked.

“To…”

“Fetch who?” His older son asked a second time.

Mr. Stonewall cleared his throat loudly until all of his relations ceased their animated interruptions.

“He asked to speak to a John Childermass,” Mr. Stonewall replied.

 

Childermass walks from the light of day on the Stonewall farm into a darkness which seems to pluck at his skin, creep up his spine and whisper of far off water ways surrounding crumbling stones which speak no English. The stars above him look unfamiliar and though the feeling of the magic lessens as he walks toward the manor, it still seems to rest just behind him as if peering over his shoulder like a curious child or barely tame animal.

As he passes under the familiar stone archway of the grounds, he soon sees a figure standing on the stoop outside the main doors of Hurtfew Abbey. It is a figure he could have easily picked out of any crowd; one he would recognize from across an English moor or any other world.

“Childermass,” the man says as Childermass stops in front of him on the stone drive before the house.

“Mr. Norrell, sir.”

(Childermass notices as one who is attuned to every detail of his old master from many years of service that Norrell is no longer wearing his gray wig and his natural hair is inexpertly combed down instead.)

Norrell smiles in his small, self-conscious way, eyes coasting over Childermass as well as the air directly to the left and right of Childermass. “You are no longer in my service and after so long an acquaintance I think it unnecessary at this moment to address me as sir.”

Childermass raises his eyebrows in surprise but he does not see it a fit point to argue just then.

“I saw the darkness fall the night you dismissed me,” Childermass comments, pointing up to indicate the whole around them with one finger.

“Yes.”

“And you are now trapped in here with Strange.”

“Not this place precisely,” Norrell says with a vague gesture to the Abbey behind him, “but most certainly with each other in this perpetual night.”

“And you have not yet found a way to break the enchantment?”

At that Norrell smiles a bit more. “I find it is not all together so bad a thing.”

Childermass only nods; he is used to the eccentricities and strange pleasures of his former master. After a pause he says, “I thought not to see you ever again.”

“It is plausible you may not again after today. We...” He looks torn for a moment, at once modestly concerned but also overjoyed in a way Childermass has not seen in him since Norrell first saw Jonathan Strange perform magic in his rooms at Hanover Square. “We are to travel, venture to other worlds and learn what we may. There is... there is much more to English magic beyond my books.”

Childermass stares at him. “You have changed, sir.”

Norrell nods and his eyes do not quite meet Childermass’. “In some ways, perhaps. I wished to...” Norrell pauses, actually looks at Childermass. Then he grasps his hands behind his back and steps down off the stoop of the house so he is at ground level with Childermass. “I wished to see you before we left England, to say goodbye and to apologize.”

Of the many things Gilbert Norrell could have said, this was not at all what Childermass would have expected. He could not help but frown. “Apologize?”

“When you left…” He clears his throat, his eyes more on the ground now and his arms tense. “When I told you to leave, you said I made the wrong choice.” Norrell looks up at Childermass again, meets his eye. “You were right. I should not have dismissed you. Of all the people connected to my work of magic and my person you were always the most faithful despite some of my…” He pauses, seems to search for the right word. “Actions.”

Childermass feels himself smile. “I served you for twenty-six years. I told you once you would be the last master I ever serve.”

“Yes. I do recall.” Norrell breathes in once deeply then pulls his arms back around to his front and threads his fingers together. “It may even have been that you were less my servant that I supposed.”

Childermass chuckles. “I would differ on that account. I was entirely your servant.”

“But possibly not just that.”

Childermass tilts his head and speaks gently. “It is perhaps a result of such long acquaintance when you had so little for a time that you should feel that way?”

“There is no need to mollify my feelings or past behavior, Childermass,” Norrell says with sternness quite different from the more petulant direction his words usually tend. “I think it even possible you were the pupil I did not realize I had all those years here at Hurtfew.”

Childermass raises an eyebrow. “No doubt you would have been quite against such an event had it occurred to you back then.”

Norrell purses his lips in displeasure but makes no snide retort. 

“My behavior… because I… and your station…” Norrell falters and clears his throat, his eyes fixed somewhere on Childermass’ chest. “My pride…”

“You need not say this, sir.”

“I do not readily admit mistakes nor apologize on a whim, Childermass. I would ask you to allow me to do so before I have no other chance!” Norrell snaps with more uncharacteristic force to his voice, his eyes shooting up to look at Childermass’ face again.

Childermass closes his mouth and nods once. He wonders if this lasting darkness has in fact awakened something more powerful and beneficial in Norrell than all his years of study or even the whimsical effect of Jonathan Strange.

“Childermass, I am…” Norrell’s expression is dark, withdrawn as if some of the night around them has fed into his eyes. He reaches up a hand slowly, hesitantly, and runs his thumb down the long, pale scar on Childermass’ cheek. He speaks quietly, just above a whisper. “I am sorry for the harm which came to you on my account.”

Then Norrell drops his hand again back to his side. His expression is drawn and he looks as though he has more he would say, more apologies he would make or actions he would desire to take back or words he never attempted, never thought to say before. Yet he appears unable to speak any of it. He does not need to. Childermass knows what Norrell would say. Childermass knows that Norrell will miss him.

“I wish you luck,” Childermass says.

Norrell smiles, the darkness easing away from his expression. “Thank you.”

“You can be proud, sir, that you accomplished what you wanted to when we first left York.”

Norrell frowns in slight confusion. “Yes?”

“You returned magic to England.”

Norrell makes an ‘ah’ of assent and nods in affirmation. He smiles a little. “A great accomplishment.” He glances behind him slightly at the house then looks at Childermass once more. “We must leave.”

Childermass nods.

Norrell steps closer to Childermass, opens his mouth once but closes it again without saying anything; He clears his throat, steps back once more and holds out his hand. “Thank you. Farewell.”

Childermass takes Norrell’s hand and shakes. “Goodbye, Mr. Norrell.”

Norrell nods once and shakes Childermass’ hand back. They both stand still for a moment, frozen staring at each other. Then Childermass steps closer, gently grips the side of Norrell’s face and kisses him once on the forehead. He lets go of Norrell quickly and turns away without another word or look. 

Childermass walks through the darkness, under the archway and on until suddenly he passes out into the day light once more. The magical presence gripping at his back disappears; he breathes easier and feels like England is truly beneath his feet again. He stares out at the snowy fields, a few members of the Stonewall family standing curiously in the doorway of their house. Childermass breathes in deeply once then twice. He reaches up and touches a hand lightly to the scar on his face.

When Childermass turns back around, the column of darkness and Hurtfew Abby within are gone.


End file.
